


i have outwalked the furthest city light

by certain_as_the_sun



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-13 23:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certain_as_the_sun/pseuds/certain_as_the_sun
Summary: In which Maeglin survives the Fall of Gondolin.





	i have outwalked the furthest city light

**Author's Note:**

> Reread the Silm and my Maeglin feels are slowly taking over my life. So I decided to write a sort-of happy ending for him. And for Celebrimbor, because he didn't deserve what happened to him. And for Maglor. And it's safe to assume Gil-Galad survives in this AU, too :)

Aredhel had told him once that as soon as an Elf died, they heard the call of Mandos. Apparently she was wrong. Maeglin, lying bruised and bloodied on a ledge beneath Gondolin's crumbling walls, could hear nothing but distant screams and the sound of Morgoth's army destroying the city.

He was dead. This was the only thing he was sure of. Tuor had thrown him from the walls. He had felt the terrifying dizziness of falling. He had landed on the rocks with enough force to dent his armour. And yet, if he was dead, why did his wounds still hurt so much?

Silence settled over the city. Day turned to night and night turned back to day. Maeglin still lay where he'd fallen. No call came. The pain remained, sometimes faint, sometimes agonising, but never gone.

Gradually he realised,  _I'm not dead yet_.

The thought sickened him. He had betrayed Gondolin — unwillingly, but that didn't change what he'd done. He had wanted to... His mind shied away from what he had wanted to do to Idril. He had tried to kill a child — he tried to tell himself he'd been almost mad and hadn't know what he was doing, but he knew it was a lie. He would be an outcast among other Elves until the world was remade. Death would have been a mercy.

_And that,_ Maeglin thought, _is why I'm not dead._

Kinslayers and traitors deserved no mercy.

* * *

Hunger finally drove him to get up. It was the gnawing sort of hunger that left him feeling completely hollow inside. Maeglin was intimately acquainted with it from his days as Morgoth's prisoner. He dragged himself to his feet, clinging to the rocks of the cliff face to steady himself. He could feel their sharp edges through his gauntlets, pressing deeply into his hands.

Now he saw that he hadn't fallen as far as he thought. By some cruel twist of fate he had landed on a small ledge slightly less than half-way to the ground. Above him loomed the broken walls that had once circled Gondolin. Beneath him lay the jagged rocks where his fa— where _Eöl_ had died. A half-formed thought slipped through Maeglin's mind. A few steps forward and... But that thought disappeared almost as soon as it came. Maeglin was a traitor, but he wasn't a coward. And as he stood on the side of Amon Gwareth, he had  a completely different idea.

Morgoth had tortured him, broken him, made him into a puppet.

Maeglin would repay him as well as he could. And perhaps the Valar would let him die trying.

* * *

Gondolin was a smoke-filled shell, her streets blocked with corpses and rubble. Maeglin walked past ruins that days before had been someone's home, searching for mostly-intact houses. Orcs preferred to steal weapons, and unless they were starving they usually left food untouched. Somewhere he was bound to find something to eat. He focused on this thought, trying to block out all others. It didn't work. Another thought filled his mind: _I did this_. It haunted him as he looked at the devastation Morgoth's armies had left. This would never have happened if he had been stronger, braver, if he had resisted.

Self-hatred and bitterness were like old friends. They had been his constant companions as a child, when Eöl ignored him as if he didn't exist, on the rare occasions when Aredhel looked at him and saw only her captor's son. They had wrapped themselves around him when Aredhel died — and that was Maeglin's fault too; Eöl meant the spear for him. They had wormed their way into his chest and stolen the breath from his lungs when he had offered Idril his love and she had recoiled in horror. And now they filled his mind and clung to him like a second skin. Maeglin fell to his knees in the middle of the street and screamed until he could scream no more.

He knelt there for hours, the only living thing in the city he had betrayed. At last he stood up and continued his search for food. But now he had another purpose in mind as well. And when he had found enough food to ease his hunger, he set off towards where his house had once stood.

Maeglin had learnt some things from Eöl. One of them was to always have hidden supplies of weapons in unexpected places. The Orcs had stolen every weapon they could find. But they had never thought to tear up the forge floor. If they had they would have found a small armoury.

Maeglin removed his battered armour and picked up a sword.

That evening an Eagle flying overhead spotted a small figure leaving the ruins of Gondolin. It paused and looked closer. The figure was an Elf, not an Orc. Probably a survivor who had hidden away somewhere and only now thought it was safe to leave. The Eagle flew on and thought no more of it.

And Maeglin, sword at his side, set out in search of Orcs to kill.

* * *

It was too much to hope he could avoid capture indefinitely. Maeglin wasn't sure if being captured by Elves was better than being captured by Orcs.

"You aren't a prisoner," the Elf in charge of this group of hunters told him as they led him back to their city — or wherever it was they were taking him. "You're alone and injured. And you look like you haven't had a good meal in years. As soon as your arm's better, you can go home."

Maeglin looked down at his wounded arm. If he had killed that spider before it could bite him, he wouldn't have wandered deliriously into the Elves' camp. He wouldn't be here, being led towards a place that would probably become his tomb as soon as they learnt who he was.

They didn't take him to a city. They took him to a fortress. A sick feeling formed in Maeglin's stomach. It would be just his luck if he'd been found by some of the survivors of Fingolfin's army. Then he saw the flag flying over the fortress. It was a Fëanorian flag.

* * *

He managed to avoid revealing his identity for the first few days.

"My home was destroyed," Maeglin said. "My parents are dead. My name is... Lómion."

He held his breath when he said that. But no one recognised his Quenya name. No one suspected who he was.

Until he met Maedhros.

* * *

It was an accidental meeting. Maeglin's curiosity got the better of him. No one had told him he couldn't walk around the castle. And if he knew it better, he could plan his escape. It seemed like a good idea. Then he turned a corner and almost walked into an Elf. An impossibly tall, red-haired Elf with only one hand.

Once — many years and a lifetime ago — Maeglin had met Maedhros before the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. He would recognise him anywhere. And Maedhros recognised him.

The Kinslayer and the Traitor of Gondolin stared at each other.

"Lómion," Maedhros said. He shook his head with a strange, almost sad smile. "I should have realised when Calaruron told me. Well, Lómion, I believe dinner is almost ready. Will you join the rest of us for it?"

Maeglin stared. If the Fëanorian had attacked him he would have understood it. But this? "Don't you know.." _What I did,_  he wanted to say.  _How I betrayed them_.

"About Gondolin? Everyone has heard of it." Maedhros looked at him again. "But I have been Morgoth's prisoner too."

* * *

Maeglin expected to leave. He  _wanted_ to leave. He had no place among other Elves. And yet, he kept thinking,  _I'll leave tomorrow_. And he still hadn't left. The only Elves who knew who he really was were Maedhros and Maglor.

Somehow he found himself around Maglor most. The second son of Fëanor was much less intimidating than his brother. And he was usually singing or playing a harp. Maeglin liked that. The music chased away the horrors lurking in his mind. He never dared get too close to Maglor. Instead he listened from the other side of the room, trying not to draw Maglor's attention. That was what he had always done in Gondolin. Better to stay away than come too close and be pushed away.

It took him by surprise when Maglor looked up one day and smiled at him.

"Lómion, would you like to hear my new composition?"

Maeglin froze. He had known Maglor knew he was there, but to be spoken to when he was content with being ignored... Half of him wanted to flee. But no one had hurt him yet. He didn't think Maglor would attack him — Maglor who spent all his time singing, cooking or sewing, Maglor who apparently preferred staying in the fortress to going out hunting, Maglor who was so much shorter and looked so much weaker than Maedhros.

Slowly Maeglin nodded. Maglor smiled at him again. Tentatively, he smiled back.

* * *

Maeglin had been at the Fëanorian fortress for three weeks when the first Orc attack came. As soon as the alarm sounded he picked up his sword and ran to join the Elves defending the fortress. Some of them gave him odd looks. But Maedhros said nothing when he saw him, so neither did anyone else.

Maeglin had a very simple method of dealing with Orcs: stab them until they stopped moving. This method had dealt with countless numbers of Orcs he'd fought over the years. The only problem with it was that when killing one Orc, he tended to forget any other enemies nearby. That was how a spider had bitten him weeks ago. And it was how he didn't see the other Orc creeping up behind him.

The first he knew of the other Orc's presence was when its blood splattered on his armour. He spun round, raising his sword to block the attack he expected.

Maglor kicked the Orc's body away and wiped its blood from his face. "You need to watch your surroundings," he said in the sort of voice Aredhel had used when Maeglin did something foolish. "You'll be killed if you don't."

Until now Maeglin had thought Maglor was the kind, harmless Fëanorian. He'd forgotten that the kind, harmless Fëanorian was still a Fëanorian. An Oathtaker. A Kinslayer. Now he saw Maglor killing Orcs almost carelessly, and he knew he'd never forget that again.

* * *

The first time Maeglin saw Maglor truly angry was when news arrived from Sirion. Elwing had a Silmaril, and she refused to give it up. Maeglin, in his bedroom just down the hall from Maedhros's, heard the Fëanorians shouting at each other long into the night.

"You know what we must do!" Maedhros yelled. "We have no choice!"

"Of course we have a choice!" The windows rattled with the force of Maglor's scream. Maeglin pulled his pillow over his head and tried not to remember Aredhel and Eöl's battles. "Have you forgotten Doriath? Dior and Nimloth dead, their children dead, our brothers dead, and for what? What have we ever gained from the Kinslayings?"

"There won't be another Kinslaying."

Maedhros's voice dropped to an inaudible murmur. Maeglin let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He tried not to listen to their conversation when it became audible again. He failed.

"You weren't there when I found Caranthir," Maglor said. "He was still alive. He hardly recognised me. He kept asking where Father was, and why Mother wasn't there. He thought he was back in Valinor. And I had to watch as my brother _bled to death in my arms_!" His voice rose to a piercing shriek on the last words. "I can't face that again. I can't— I can't—"

Their conversation became inaudible again. Maeglin buried his face in his pillow and tried to forget what he'd heard.

* * *

The next morning Amrod and Amras arrived with their soldiers. Maeglin watched them ride up, then began to gather his belongings. Being a traitor was enough without becoming a Kinslayer too.

Maglor found him before he finished packing. 

"Oh," he said. "I hoped you would keep an eye on the fortress while we're away."

He carefully avoided the subject of why they were going away. So did Maeglin.

"Why don't you ask your servants to watch it?"

"Most of them are coming with us. But I'll tell some of them to stay."

Maglor turned to leave. Maeglin looked down at his half-packed clothes and weapons. If he left the Fëanorians, where would he go? Back to killing Orcs until one of them finally killed him? Would he try to find Elves somewhere who would let him live with them without asking who he was or where he was from? Could he try to sail to Valinor? What was there for him anywhere but death and despair?

"I'll stay," he told Maglor quietly.

* * *

He knew the minute Maedhros and Maglor returned that they had failed. They brought back far fewer Elves than they had left with. Amrod and Amras were nowhere to be seen. Nor did they have a Silmaril with them.

Instead they had two children. Two small, identical children who clung to Maglor and stared at their surroundings with wide frightened eyes.

No one told Maeglin the full story. He pieced it together from bits and pieces of what he did hear. Elwing escaped with the Silmaril, and the children were her sons. Which meant they were Idril's grandsons.

Maeglin watched the twins as they followed Maglor around like ducklings. Their wide-eyed amazement at their new surroundings reminded him painfully of himself when he first saw Gondolin.

He avoided the children as much as possible.

* * *

It proved impossible to avoid the children.

Elros started it. He came up to Maeglin one day and hugged him. Maeglin froze. Should he push the child away?

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to extricate himself from the Elfling's embrace.

"Hugging you," Elros said. (He knew this child was Elros because Maglor had started making them wear different colours. Elrond wore a blue tunic, Elros wore a red one.) "You look sad, so I'm cheering you up."

Maeglin thought of what he had done to Elros's family.  _I tried to murder your father,_  he could have said.  _I betrayed your great-grandfather because I thought it would make your grandmother love me._ But how could he tell the child any of that?

* * *

They formed a very strange sort of family. Maglor was somehow father and mother at once to the twins, and a sort of older brother to Maeglin. Maedhros was like an uncle to Maeglin and the twins. The twins seemed to see Maeglin as an older cousin or brother to tease or complain to. It was... odd. But Maeglin found he liked it.

He should have known it couldn't last.

The first blow was Elros choosing to be mortal.

The next was when Maedhros and Maglor disappeared one day. Maeglin and Elrond were left alone, the last remnants of their strange little family, wondering what had happened.

Maeglin knew where the Fëanorians had gone before news came from Eönwë's camp. He expected Elrond would refuse to believe it. But he could see in the Peredhel's eyes that he knew it was true as well as Maeglin did.

"I suppose we must leave here now," Elrond said at last, looking around at the camp that had been their home since they left the fortress. "We can go to Lindon. Gil-Galad's asked me to be his herald permanently."

"We?" Maeglin repeated. "But... I won't be welcome in Lindon."

He had never outright told the twins who he really was. Elros had probably never made the connection between Maeglin Lómion, traitor of Gondolin, and Lómion, the Elf who lived in the fortress with them. He suspected Elrond had. The younger twin had always noticed more than Elros. Even if he did know, Maeglin was sure he had never realised what that truly meant. But to go to Lindon, where survivors of Gondolin lived...

"Yes, you will," Elrond said confidently. "Many people there respect me because I'm Eärendil's son, and others do because I'm the High King's herald. When I introduce you as my friend, no one would dare make you unwelcome."

"But—"

"Maeglin." It was the first time Elrond had ever used his father-name. Maeglin winced and fell silent. "I've heard of what you did. But I know _you_. And you're the closest family I have left."

* * *

Gil-Galad said nothing about Elrond's mysterious friend. Maeglin went by a new name and took care to avoid anyone from Gondolin. Years passed without anyone recognising him.

Then Glorfindel arrived.

Maeglin had no chance to hide or avoid him. Maeglin didn't even know the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had returned until he walked into the library to find Glorfindel already there. The former lord was leafing through a history of the First Age, oblivious to anyone else's presence. Maeglin slowly backed towards the door. No sudden moves. Nothing that would draw attention. Maybe he could escape unseen...

The floor creaked as he moved. Glorfindel looked up.

The Balrog-slayer and the traitor of Gondolin stared at each other. Glorfindel's face displayed several emotions, beginning with shock and ending with hastily-suppressed rage. Maeglin wished the floor would open beneath his feet.

"Maeglin," Glorfindel said at last. He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "How... nice to see you again."

"Lord Glorfindel." Maeglin's voice was a high-pitched squeak. "I didn't—" Didn't what? "Didn't know you were here"? "Didn't want to betray Gondolin"? Maeglin fell silent and stared at the floor. Perhaps Glorfindel would be kind enough to kill him quickly.

"I learnt many things while I was in the Halls," Glorfindel said as if merely commenting on the weather. "I learnt that you were still alive, or you would have been there. I learnt what happened to you. Vairë had tapestries on the subject."

The thought that there were tapestries depicting his torture turned Maeglin's stomach. Did everyone in the Halls of Mandos look at them? Did the Gondolindrim comfort themselves with the knowledge their betrayer had suffered more than they had?

He didn't notice Glorfindel had moved until the other Elf stood in front of him.

"I saw what you suffered," Glorfindel said quietly. His face was impassive, but his eyes were no longer quite as cold as they had been. "I don't like you and I doubt I will ever forgive you, but I understand why you betrayed us."

He turned abruptly and walked back to the table he'd been sitting at. Maeglin knew a dismissal when he saw one.

* * *

"You met Glorfindel?" Elrond said later, when Maeglin recounted an abridged version of their meeting. "Is he really the Glorfindel from Gondolin?"

"Yes," Maeglin said. "Yes, he is." He saw the look on Elrond's face. "Don't worry. He isn't happy to see me, but he won't demand Gil-Galad has me executed."

Elrond did not look as if he was satisfied with this answer.

Maeglin picked up a cup he'd forged. Working in the forges had long since ceased to be his favourite pastime, but he still visited them on occasion. Now, as he examined the cup, he thought of an idea he'd had. "I think I'll visit Ost-in-Edhil soon."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Partly to visit Celebrimbor. Partly to see the Maia he's working with."

"Be careful. I don't trust Annatar."

"I know. That's why I want to see him." Maeglin set the cup down. "If there is something suspicious about him, I might recognise it better than anyone else."

* * *

Several days later, Maeglin left for Ost-in-Edhil. He'd been gone for less than a day when he returned at a gallop, with Celebrimbor beside him and bringing the news that Annatar was really Sauron.

Sauron had the common sense to flee before Gil-Galad's army arrived to drive him out of the city. He stormed back to Mordor, his plans thwarted. No one believed he would stay there forever.

Maeglin hoped he wouldn't. He had a knife ready to drive into the fallen Maia's heart the minute Sauron left Mordor. So had Celebrimbor. And when they were through with him, Galadriel, Gil-Galad, and Eru knew how many other Elves would be waiting.

* * *

Several months after Sauron's disappearance, Celebrimbor went out one day and returned dragging Maglor behind him.

"Elrond! Lómion!" he shouted. "My idiot uncle wants to run away again! Come and help me stop him!"

A few curious passersby were puzzled by the sight of a Fëanorian, the High King's herald, and the herald's cousin crying and embracing a ragged Elf. But it was hardly the strangest thing to happen recently, so no one asked any questions. And if anyone suspected that the minstrel living with his "distant relatives" was anything other than who he claimed to be, they said nothing about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Acquainted with the Night" by Robert Frost.


End file.
